“This is the time foreseen by Abraham when he first created the Codex,” Machiavelli’s master continued. “He had the Sight, he could see the curling strands of time. He foretold that this age would come-he called it the Time of the Turning, when order would be returned to the world. We have discovered the twins, we know the whereabouts of Flamel and the last two pages from the Codex. Once we have the pages we can use the twins’ powers to fuel the Final Summoning.”

The line crackled with static, and in the background Machiavelli clearly heard a murmur of assent. He realized that there were others listening in on the line, and he wondered how many of the Dark Elders had gathered. He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from smiling at the image of the Elders, in their assorted guises and aspects-human and inhuman, beast and monster-listening intently on cell phones. Machiavelli chose his moment when there was a break in the murmuring voices and spoke carefully, stripping all emotion from his voice, keeping it neutral and professional.

“Then can I suggest that you allow us to complete our tasks. Let us find Flamel and the twins.” He knew he was playing a dangerous game now, but it was clear that there was dissension in the ranks of the Elders, and Machiavelli had always been expert at manipulating such situations. He had clearly heard the need in his master’s voice. The Elders desperately wanted the twins and the Codex: without them, the rest of the Dark Elders would not be able to return to the earth. And at that instant he recognized that both he and Dee were still valuable assets. “The doctor and I have formulated a plan,” he said, and then fell silent, waiting to see if they would take the bait.

“Speak, humani,” the male-female voice rumbled.

Machiavelli folded his hands and said nothing. Dee’s eyebrows shot up and he pointed at the phone. Speak, he mouthed.

“Speak!” the voice snarled, static howling and popping.

“You are not my master,” Machiavelli said very quietly. “You cannot command me.”

There was a long hissing sound, like steam escaping. Machiavelli turned his head slightly, trying to identify the noise. Then he nodded: it was laughter. The other Elders were amused by his response. He had been correct; there was dissension in the ranks of the Elders, and though Dee’s master might be all-powerful, that did not mean he was liked. Here was a weakness Machiavelli could exploit to his advantage.

Dee was staring at him, gray eyes wide with horror and maybe even admiration.

The line clicked, the ambient background noise changed and then Machiavelli’s master spoke, amusement clearly audible in his gravelly voice. “What do you propose? And be careful, humani,” he added. “You too have failed us. We were assured that Flamel and the twins would not leave Paris.”